


Holidays In Night Vale

by ninom3000



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Christmas, Holiday, Life in Night Vale, M/M, NVCR, Night Vale, Night Vale Community Radio, Night Vale Radio, POV Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), POV Cecil (Welcome to Night Vale), Scientist Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), The Voice of Night Vale, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, Welcome to Night Vale - Freeform, wtnv - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 11:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7313707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninom3000/pseuds/ninom3000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil and Carlos enjoy their holidays together in Night Vale, but what happens when the weather changes drastically, and it starts to snow in their desert community?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Night Vale was a quiet place, full of people and angels that don't exist and voids that filled the empty areas behind dumpsters and in the dark alleyways.

The man behind it all - all of the news updates, traffic reports, and confusion of the citizens - was the voice of Night Vale himself, Cecil Gershwin Palmer.

Cecil is neither tall nor short, not skinny nor fat. He has a face that seems vaguely recognizable, like you've seen him before but are unsure as to where or when you have witnessed this anomaly.

Cecil's voice, casting over the whole of Night Vale like a warm blanket, is creamy, putting all of the citizens in either a state of ease or panic.

Living in the desert is described by him to often be a dreary existence until the one day when the fabric of reality changes. A man shows up, a man unlike any that you could imagine, any man that anyone has ever seen before. He has teeth like a military cemetery, soft skin, and hair that is brown and curling, circling his face in a perfect frame for his sharp jawline. His name is Carlos.

Cecil, an awkward radio host, falls instantly in love with this man. He was afraid that his love was unrequited, that Carlos would never give him a passing glance.

He was wrong.

Cecil and Carlos, after being put in a multitude of life-threatening situations, realized that their time on this spinning orb is short. After all that they went through, they only wanted to see each other.


	2. Chapter 2

Cecil's POV

"Carlos," I sing out, smiling inwardly. The holidays are approaching and we've been decorating the radio station energetically. "The mistletoe's strung up."

Carlos turns the corner, leaning on the wall so I can only see the top half of his body. His hair is matted, but still curly and perfect, and he is smiling with his perfect teeth. His glasses are on the bridge of his nose. Carlos is wearing a thick, red sweater depicting a reindeer's silhouette, but it doesn't seem to be holding any weapons or bleeding anywhere.

He stands for a second, skimming over the rooms we've been decorating. His eyes come to me and they work their way up my body - I can feel them as they reach my own eyes. It just makes me smile even wider.

Carlos stands slowly, pushing himself off of the wall and walking over towards me. I admire the way he walks - like he owns the place, like nothing can stop him. When he first arrived here, Carlos was awkward and shy. Now he has pride, evident in his walk, his voice, his smile.

He reaches me and immediately places a soft, warm hand on my shoulder. I can feel his heat on me and it is soothing, knowing that he's here and not some apparition that I have made up or am somehow viewing.

I turn my head to look now at the radio station, studying our careful handiwork. Carlos and I worked together, putting up wreaths of leaf and bone. We also found a tree, but upon further examination it might just be a cactus.

"It looks amazing," Carlos compliments. He reaches up to the mistletoe that is hanging above our heads in the doorway and pulls a leaf down, straightening it. Then he looks at me, biting his lip. "You know the mistletoe tradition, right?"

I nod, laughing. He pulls me towards him and our lips lock. I do not know how long we stand there, but it feels like an eternity. I want it to be an eternity. His warmth is spreading throughout me, starting at my lips and where his hand is pressed firmly on my chest, pushing me up against the wall. It blossoms like a flower and it almost makes me dizzy when the warmth reaches my head. I feel giddy, happy, excited. I never want him to pull away.

The moment ends when we hear sudden static on a nearby radio. He lingers for a little bit, breathing on my softly but deeply. I slide away from him, teasing, and saunter over to the radio.

The message being broadcast is short, but it leaves me somewhat shocked. It's a message from the Night Vale City Council.

I look over to Carlos, who undoubtedly heard the news. His head is tilted towards the ground, his hand on his chin, and he looks deep in thought, pondering the possibility of the event soon to come and how it could happen.

The message stated that Night Vale was supposed to get snow.

Living in a desert, we haven't seen snow for a long time that isn't artificial. John Peters - you know, the farmer - lent us his chipper from his farm and some citizens got together and shredded some bones and cheese wheels to create the artificial snow.

"Cecil, this is impossible." Carlos states. "It can't snow in a desert."

I give him a reassuring look back. "The City Council is probably behind it. They control a lot of things around here."

He nods, continuing to ponder this mystery. "I'm going to head to our apartment, Cecil." he explains calmly. Grabbing his jacket, he adds, "I'll be back soon to help finish up the decorations."

And like that, Carlos is gone, the door shutting with a bang behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Carlos's POV

I race to the apartment that Cecil and I call home, wanting to find some conclusive evidence and get back to Cecil before the snow hits. I want to get back to the radio station before it happens. Snow in a desert has two possibilities - fail or catastrophe.

The most scientific explanation is a fail. The desert is hot, burning, and it could easily melt and fall as rain. Considering the City Council is behind it, the snow might fall and cover the desert, or at least this small town.

When I reach the apartment, I unlock the front door steadily, swing my bag onto the counter, and head up the small staircase to the bedroom. A few books are scattered around the room and I search, eventually finding my book on meteorology. It has odd instances of weather patterns and happenings, but there's no report of snow ever falling in a desert.

Sighing, I pick up my cell phone and dial Cecil's number quickly, looking at my watch and remembering that the clocks in Night Vale don't work. I can remember the call I made to Cecil the day I uncovered that, remember how he played the call on his show. He was so excited to hear my voice, and I his. We've come so far since then.

The phone rings for a little bit and finally I hear a click. Cecil's voice penetrates the speaker. "Carlos?" he asks. I can hear the smile in his voice, happy to have some sort of link to me.

"Cecil, this seems impossible, but it's going to happen." I tell him. "I'm coming back to the radio station.

"Okay," he responds in a sing-song voice, "but be careful."

His statement puzzles me until I look out the small, draped window in our bedroom. Pulling back the curtains, I see small, white flurries spinning to the ground.

"It's starting to snow already," I state in awe, sure he already knew. "I'm going to grab some warm clothing and stuff that might help us with the snow. Be there soon."

Cecil breathes in slowly. "Alright," he says excitedly, "love you." Then I hear a click and I know that he's gone.

I slide my phone into the pocket of my coat, heading downstairs again. I walk over to the closet towards the back of the apartment that has our gloves, hats, scarves, and all sorts of articles of clothing inside. On the way, I grab my bag on the counter and open the latch. Then I start shoving scarves and gloves inside, putting in a few hats. Once I feel like I have enough, I cross to the front door, pulling on my own pair of gloves. They're fuzzy and brown, warming my hands quickly. I pull a scarf that's sticking out of the opening of my bag and wrap it around my exposed neck, turning the collar of my coat up.

Then I'm ready, and I head out the front door. I'm greeted by a slight chill. The temperature hasn't lowered drastically, but it is quite a change from what we're used to on typical days.

What surprises me the most is the fact that nobody is upset, surprised, excited. Everyone seems to be treating this as if it was normal, as if snow was a common happening in the desert.

Noting that it will probably become even colder, I head over to my small, black car and step inside it carefully. It's somewhat old, and it was used before I bought it. I purchased it before I came to Night Vale, this fascinating place with the most fascinating people.

I'm thinking about our adventures, my studies, on the drive over. It's a relatively short drive and I'm going slow, taking in the scenery. Despite its odd look, as if it's out of place, the snow looks beautiful, highlighting the lights and buildings. I turn back to the street to see a man crossing the road in front of me.

He is wearing a tan jacket and has a deerskin briefcase on. I swerve to avoid him, the tires skidding out of my control, and am jolted back and forth. The car collides heavily with a street lamp and the airbag deploys.

Then everything goes black.


	4. Chapter 4

Cecil's POV

The phone clicks and goes dead. I'm nervous for Carlos - we aren't equipped for snow. He's a scientist, so he'll probably be fine.

I pace the room I'm in, carefully examining all of our decorations. Carlos and I both incorporated our traditions.

Carlos helped me put some skulls, bones, and viscera around the studio. He seemed a bit uncomfortable, but he helped me with a smile. Then he showed me how to get all of the spiders out of mistletoe. A bit odd, but it puts us at ease. He also brought in a pine tree and put little knicknacks and ornaments on it. I helped a bit, placing small bones and a teeth necklace that Old Woman Josie gave to me onto the tree excitedly.

The studio is cheery and festive, looking much brighter than it usually does. Carlos brings this out in me - he makes me brighter, happier, and I love it. I don't know if I've changed him, but either way, I'm grateful.

There's an eerie quiet in the station, and ever second that elapses brings about another weight, a pressured feeling upon me. Carlos should've been back by now. He's usually quick - I guess that the snow has slowed him down. It still puts me in a state of unease.

As I'm waiting, I head into the station that I usually broadcast from, straightening my skulls and mugs on the desk. Post-It notes line the table, some with writing depicting what to say on my next show. Others have little notes from Carlos scribbled on them - what to buy, little encouragements, and a few odd words for himself. A couple notes were blank or possibly written in invisible ink.

Some are written in actual pen or pencil, but only during the select times when they are allowed. Others are written in many different liquids, sometimes using our fingernails or toenails to write them out. Some look like they're written just in paint or regular ink, some in drinks or blood.

I read over the notes, smiling to myself, especially at Carlos's scribbly, drawling handwriting. I can hear his voice in the short notes, creamy and warm in my ear. Thinking about this worries about me and I put down the note in my hand shakily.

The station's phone rings now, and I run to it, expecting it to be Carlos. I pick it up and am greeted with heavy, deep breathing - the City Council.

"Hello?" I state, trying to stabilize my voice. It still comes out in a shaky whisper, quiet. I clear my throat and demand, "Who is there?" It's still quiet, but louder and less trembly.

The breathing stops for a second, followed by a long screech, and I pull the receiver away from my ear while it goes on. I hear it stop and place the cold plastic back on my face, listening intently.

The single screech can only mean one thing - there's been an accident somewhere. I wonder where, wishing I could report on it. I don't have any information, however, and the radio signal is probably down. I pick up a Post-it note that's presumably blank, hoping that it didn't have any invisible ink on it, and write down "Accident during snowstorm" quickly. The dial tone reverberates in my ear and I know the Council has hung up.

I wonder who might've been in an accident. I hope it wasn't too destructive, too violent - the residents will never learn to appreciate snow. Snow is a rarity in Night Vale, and having it can be a treat or a curse. I desperately want it to be a treat this time around, so if the Council ever decides to do it again, the citizens may be excited instead of scared.

Windows frosted slightly, I peer out at the white blanket now settling on the soft sand of the desert we call home. What a different experience, something that I will cherish, but I only regret not being prepared. Carlos is so excited to research and study this phenomenon, like it's completely preposterous. Where he's from, maybe deserts never get snow. This is rare indeed, but it's probably happened before.

Then I feel a pang in my chest - Carlos. What if it was him in the accident? I doubt it. My mind is playing tricks on me.

Carlos is smart. He uses his brain. But he was so excited to see the snow, so excited to have something new to study. It could've been--

I stop myself from thinking these terrible thoughts. An accident is bad enough. Maybe I should go investigate - I might be able to help the citizen who got into a tragic situation.

I grab my scarf - the purple one with the eyes all over it that match my tattoos - and pull on my jacket. It's not very big, but I grab a blanket and wrap it around me. Then I open the door to the station, a large gust of wind storming in. I shut the door behind me and start to walk, looking down at the precise footprints that my shoes make in the snow. It is already deep, maybe an inch or two, and it doesn't show any signs of stopping any time soon.

I have to go help. Now.


	5. Chapter 5

Cecil's POV

I follow the roads snaking around Night Vale, jogging a bit to stay warm. It isn't cold in perspective - it could be much colder, and the only reason it's so cool is because of the snow - but to us desert-dwellers, it's freezing.

As I'm heading to the site, my mind is racing, filling with ideas of who it could be and what happened. Chances are somebody was hurt somehow, and it is more than likely that it was a car accident, but it could have been a large bird or a giant squid that has happened to slip under our noses.

Every time a thought of Carlos comes up, I push it down, trying to drown that sort of negativity. I am faithful in him, and I want to believe that he is okay. I still cannot stop the feeling that something is amiss. This sort of feeling I can only get so strongly from Carlos, blossoming from the pit of my stomach and spreading through my veins, aching with each pounding, trembling step.

The streets seem to be never-ending, one turn after another. The mounting suspense makes my heart pound faster and faster and I try to mask it by jogging, running, sprinting. I am sure that I've passed some of these buildings before.

I round yet another corner and see smoke, slowing down and ultimately stopping to survey the situation. The overturned car on the side of the road is covered with a thin layer of snow and frost, but it is obviously a small, black car.

It looks familiar, and my heart sinks even further when I realize why - it's Carlos's car.

My head is spinning and I sway, nearly falling into the snow. I catch myself, stumbling forward, and shuffle over to the wreckage.

It feels like a dream, like I'm just having monstrous visions. I try to convince myself that it isn't real, it isn't real, but I can't.

The black vehicle is on its side. Most of the windows are cracked, a couple shattered. My vision is fuzzy and black dots dance in my sight, unconsciousness tugging at the edges of my mind.

By now, a small crowd of people has gathered around the crash site. Some are bundled, not an inch of skin showing, while others are wearing just coats and gloves, maybe a scarf. A choice few have on shorts and T-shirts, shivering visibly.

I gasp and make my way around the car, searching for Carlos. I look over and into the driver's side window - or what's left of the shattered pane - and see Carlos. He is slumped to the side with several small cuts on his face and wrists. His hair is ruffled and tangled, his eyes closed tightly. I look to his forehead, covered by black curls. It looks shiny and....

Red.

"Carlos!" I wail, wiggling the car door. It swings open with some effort and I clamber inside, legs flailing. My arms wrap around his shoulders and I tug at him, trying to lift him up and out of the wreckage. I expect him to move at least a little bit, but he doesn't budge. I'm afraid that he is stuck.

"Help!" I'm crying desperately, but none of the bystanders move. They watch on silently, tears welling in a few eyes. My tattoos, normally stationary, are glowing purple, flaring, and flailing around.

I am babbling uncontrollably, raging now and unleashing my fury on the car. I shake Carlos vigorously, trying to wake him up, but his head lulls to the side and his curls shake feebly.

Then I slump down, defeated. My heart is racing, threatening to pound its way out of my chest, and I place my head in my hands. His name is stuck on my lips, and I mumble it over and over again, hoping that it will do something, fix everything.

His name is what fixed me when he came here. When I first heard his name, I was in love instantly. Now he's dying, and we didn't even get to say goodbye to each other. He promised he would see me later.

That's a promise that I'll make sure he keeps.


	6. Chapter 6

Cecil's POV

Time seems to stand still, nothing happening. The snow fluttering to the ground is slow, and I watch individual flakes trying to take my mind off of the events that have occurred and are happening around me.

Finally, eventually, I hear sirens and look up eagerly, witnessing a small ambulance driving up the icy roads.

Paramedics jump out of the vehicle, heading towards me. They are fuzzy, too, their faces shadowed.

I climb back out of the car slowly with some help from them. The two then work to pry Carlos out, pulling forcefully but cautiously. I see him move and they lift him out, his head lolling from side to side.

They lay him carefully on the ground without a word, heading to get a stretcher.

I am standing still unable to move to breathe. The crowd that had gathered has somewhat dissipated - it is significantly smaller now. Some look on with sympathy, some with concern.

Eventually I kneel in the snow next to Carlos's body. Carlos, perfectly imperfect Carlos, being taken away. The hospital in Night Vale is small, and I hope they'll be able to help him.

I hear crunching footsteps and know that the paramedics are coming to take him away. I fight the urge to lurch forward to cover him, but I stumble backwards and let them through.

Watching them take Carlos is painstakingly difficult. It's almost as if the links, the small strings connecting him to me are breaking one by one.

My knees are weak and I am incredibly light-headed and dizzy, but I stand. The ambulance starts to drive away and I walk towards it, rounding corners as the flashing lights and blaring sirens get farther and farther away.

The ambulance rounds a corner and disappears from my sight. I peer at my surroundings, focusing my eyes. I'm in a sort of alleyway with some trash cans and floating animal carcasses. My concern briefly changes to fury and I run to the nearest trash can, swinging my leg towards it.

It connects and my leg shoots up in pain but I ignore it, my tattoos flashing. Then I start walking back to the radio station, wanting to get out of the decreasing weather.

My mind is wandering, blank, as I make my way to the station. I just try to think of my next broadcast or what I need to buy at the store.

The station's windows have been frosted over, little ice crystals creeping up the glass. Mistletoe hangs in the doorway and the festive decorations make me feel even worse.

I head into my booth and pick up the small microphone on the desk, turning it in my hand.

The phone in the station rings abruptly and I tense, jumping at the sound. I walk tentatively to the telephone and pick it up, holding it gingerly in between my thumb and first finger.

"H-hello?" I stutter.

"Cecil Gershwin Palmer?" a feminine voice asks.

"Yes," I state, straightening up a bit as if they can see me.

"I'm calling regarding Carlos. You are listed as his emergency contact on record." the voice acknowledges.

I nod, forgetting that they cannot see me, and mumble, "Mm-hm."

A sigh is heard through the phone and my heart races a bit faster, gasping, but they reassure, "No, no, nothing bad. It's impossible to reach anybody in this storm."

"What is it?" I demand. My voice cracks and wavers a bit as I say it, sounding much less powerful than I had planned.

"I just wanted to let you know that he's starting to wake up."


	7. Chapter 7

Carlos's POV

As soon as my eyelids start to open, pain shoots through my body. I feel as though I'm on fire, like I've been dropped from a skyscraper. Images of the accident flash through my mind quickly until the point when everything goes black.

I hear a faint beeping and start to wonder, Where am I? Most likely a hospital, I presume, but in Night Vale, you never know.

I attempt to open my eyes again and am nearly blinded. The room I am in is stark white, with bright lights illuminating it from every angle. Eventually, my eyes get used to the lighting and I glance around. It's definitely a hospital, with machines monitoring my heart and blood pressure. There is an IV in my arm and some kind of clear liquid running from a bag at my bedside into it. There are a couple chairs in the corner of the room, and the room itself is somewhat small. The white walls make it look much larger than it actually is.

I hear someone open the door and try to turn my head to look, but my neck bursts with pain.

"Don't try to move," a voice states, and a nurse walks into my field of vision. "You were in a pretty bad accident. Moving could hurt you even more, Carlos."

I squint my eyes, not wanting to speak. The nurse simply laughs and reassures, "You'll be fine, don't worry about that."

It's not what my question was going to be, but it sends a feeling of relief through my body and feels almost as if the pain subsides slightly.

"We called Cecil. He should be on his way by now. He was pretty shaken up that you were hurt." she acknowledges. Then, after checking a couple monitors, she leaves the room.

Time seems to crawl by like a turtle on its belly, slowly inching forward. I wait and wait for Cecil to show up, getting more and more anxious. What if he was angry and got into an accident himself?

Then I hear pounding, running footsteps. Cecil, definitely Cecil.

The door swings open, slamming on the wall behind it. "Carlos!" he wails, and runs to the foot of my bed so I can see him.

His eyes are red and puffy - he's been crying. He looks cold, with only a scarf and a small jacket. His skin is pale, even more pale that it usually is, and his tattoos are flaring. I can see a couple on his neck that are exposed, a few on his hands, and one is even glaring through his shirt where the jacket isn't zipped shut.

"Carlos, are you okay?" he asks in a shaky voice.

I nearly nod, then remember to say, "I'm alright." My voice is raspy and my throat hurts when I talk. I wince and Cecil draws in a long breath.

"What happened?" he asks, concerned. I'm afraid that he's going to break down again, but he keeps his composure.

"I can't remember," I respond truthfully. "I think there was a man in the street, and then I swerved and crashed and..."

My voice trails off and Cecil gasps again, taking in one drawling breath at a time. "You're okay now," he's saying over and over, whispering it into my ear. He takes a few locks of my hair in his hands, playing with them idly. His hands are shaky but precise and soft. I'm glad to have him with me.

The nurse from earlier comes back into my room and Cecil jumps up. "When will he be good to go home? Is he going to be okay? Did he break anything?" he bombards, spewing questions at her.

The nurse chuckles and states, "He'll be able to go home soon, nothing's broken as far as we know. And Carlos is going to be fine."

Cecil sighs and laughs, looking at me with soft eyes.

"Cecil, are you okay?" I wonder, realizing that he's been so concerned about me that I forgot to be concerned for him.

He nods, his smile growing bigger. "I'm fine. I'm here for you--"

I cut him off, trying to push myself up but flopping down on the bed as a bolt of pain shoots through my back. "No, seriously, are you okay? I need to know about you. I'm worried about you, Cecil."

His eyes turn sad. "I'm alright, Carlos. I'm just worried for you. Losing you would--" his voice breaks and he whimpers.

"I know," I tell him, and he leans down in an attempt to hug me. He is warm, and feeling his skin against mine is better than any medicine that the hospital could give me.


	8. Chapter 8

Carlos's POV

Heading home from the hospital felt great. I was allowed to go after a few days, forcing Cecil and I to spend the holidays at the hospital.

I feel so bad, so guilty that he was here. Cecil has spent nights here, only heading home to get something for me. I need to repay him, somehow. I am so lucky to have him.

It was an uncomfortable couple of nights but I managed. I didn't like all of the medicines and drugs they had me on, but they did help, I'll admit.

The only drug I needed was Cecil, sitting next to my bed no matter what. His love is my addiction.

Cecil's POV

Seeing Carlos suffer hurts me, and I feel as if I need to help in every possible way.

Carlos saved me. He gave me a reason to keep going and something to talk about, something to be excited about. Ever since I met him, my life has been incredible.

Staying by his bedside was the least I could do. I decorated his hospital room for the holidays and we exchanged some gifts there, but most were back at the radio station, waiting for his triumphant return.

I got Carlos a few books about science and the past experiences that have been documented in Night Vale to help with his studies, as well as a comb for his beautiful hair that was purple to match my tattoos. He seemed thrilled to have them, and I was even more thrilled at his three gifts for me.

Carlos gifted me with a microphone keychain, engraved with his name in curly font on the back. He also presented me with a gift certificate to Big Rico's Pizzeria, which pleased me.

The biggest gift of all was a small carrying case for some equipment so I could record while I was out with him or on an adventure or even just sitting at home. It had pictures of us all over it - me standing next to Khoshekh with Carlos studying him, a picture of us on our first date, and so many more.

The best gift he got me, however, was the gift of him, the fact that he stayed and is here now, alive, okay. I love him, and he loves me. That is what I am sure of.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I wrote this a while ago and I know it's not really Christmas yet but hey, we can get festive a little earlier this year. Plus time isn't real. ;D I'm a huge fan of Night Vale, and if you have any suggestions for improvement for this work, please feel free to let me know. I want to keep it as close to the actual podcast as possible.


End file.
